She just fits so well into my life already, it scares me.
It’s not just about me, though.
It’s not just about her fitting into my life.
It’s about her wanting to be there, and I—hell, if I even start pressing for something real, she’ll take off like a bat out of hell.
Sighing, I give Holt a weary stare. “Look, can we hold off on planning my wedding? I’m happily single and fixing to stay that way, boss. I’ve still got too much to do for Eli to even think about stuffing someone up in his life that way.”
“You said it, man. Not me.” Holt holds his hands up innocently. “I didn’t say a word.”
Sure.
He said a lot of words.
A lot of utter shit I can’t stop thinking about, and not just because Holt put those thoughts in my head like the devil prankster he is.
If I’m being honest with myself, they’ve been in my head since the moment Felicity sat me down in her office and touched me so gently, fussing over my flesh wound with that sad look on her face.
I’m falling down a man-eating rabbit hole.
Dangerous territory.
No—worse.
I’m falling, period.
Falling headfirst for a woman with so many dark secrets it’s like I don’t even know her at all.
You know what the worst part is about falling for the ones you shouldn’t?
It’s how predictable it gets.
How you know you’re spiraling into one bad move after the next and you keep expecting this momentous breakthrough, when deep down you can see the sledgehammer coming toward you like a bullet train.
I can’t stay away from her.
Not on my life.
Last night, she came back to the cabin so late I barely caught a glimpse of her exhausted trudge before she collapsed into bed and was out cold in ten minutes.
I was five minutes away from heading out to find her myself, stuck in that memory at The Nest with Fliss in tears and those “contractors” who roughed up her place.
She’d mumbled something about monthly accounting and insisted everything was fine.
She’s drained.
Not scared.
That should be enough.
Fuck, I’m not her guard dog...am I?
The following evening, I answer my own question.
I’ve just picked Eli up from the Fords’ place after work, and the cabin feels too empty. I need to go grocery shopping, but tonight there’s no harm in picking up a treat or two from the pastry counter at The Nest.
As I park the Jeep in front of the kitschy little café, Eli lifts his camera and snaps a pic through the windshield. I glance at him, cutting the engine and lifting my brows.
“Really, little man?”
He pouts. “The lighting through the glass helps capture the energy of the place, Dad.”
I swallow a laugh. I don’t want my kid thinking I’m making fun of him, but he sounds like a pint-sized art critic. He came back from the Fords’ yesterday yammering on about color values and light palettes, fancy stuff I’ve never heard him say before in his life despite his passion for photography.
Doesn’t take much to figure out it has to do with that Tara girl.
Her aunt, Haley, is a professional artist, and apparently Tara’s intent on following in her footsteps.
My son, apparently, is intent on impressing an artsy big city girl.
Yeah, kid. I know how you feel.
Even if the girl I’m aiming to impress is as small-town as it comes.
Suppressing my grin, I give him a nudge, then step out and follow his enthusiastic stride into the bustling café.
After Brody’s, The Nest is the town’s evening gathering place. People stop by in groups to socialize, have a little dessert, a lot of sweet coffee, and catch a boatload of gossip.
Suddenly I’m self-conscious, and not because I’m painfully aware of the eye-grabby attention from the gaggle of superficially pretty women. Their eyes stab at me the second I walk in.
Thanks, Holt.
More than anything, it’s because I’m painfully aware of Fliss, this lively whirlwind behind the counter.
Her part-timers have nothing on her when she ignites the place like she’s trailing magic wherever she goes. The Nest zings with her personal touch added to every order and always greeting everyone with a sweet smile and good humor no matter how short or surly they might be with her.
That’s what gets me most.
Even now the vulture crew daggers her with ugly looks, but they still come here and slurp down her coffee with fake-ass smiles.
And I know Fliss well enough to know she’ll still return a genuine smile every time, and not just because The Nest needs the money.
That’s who she is.
She notices Eli before she sees me.
He breaks away and runs up to the coffee bar, vaulting himself onto a stool and calling, “Felicity! Come see, I just got this really cool shot of the café!”
She lifts her head, and her smile blazes even brighter. Fuck.
“Just a second, Eli.”
She finishes her latest transaction, waving her customer off with a sunny laugh, and turns back to Eli—only to halt midstride as she catches sight of me.
Then her smile vanishes.
That shouldn’t make my gut plummet.
It’s back a second later, after that split-second falter, returning with the slow creep of rose-pink across her cheeks. She glances away, tucking her hair behind her ear in a delicate gesture that makes my chest thump, my pulse throb, my attention seize.
Shit.
Have I been misreading her this whole time?
Is she not avoiding me because maybe—just maybe—
Damn.
I damn myself for the hope flaring in my chest.
This is madness.
I just well told Holt yesterday that I’m not doing this. No chasing her down. No way, no how, no dice.
Eli comes first, forever, and anything else is secondary—including women so damaged and pretty they could drop a man cold.
Yet, as Fliss flashes me her shy smile, leaning over the bar to look at the viewscreen on Eli’s camera, my spinning head doesn’t want to listen to the thought of her playing second fiddle.
Breathe, you fucking moose, I tell myself.
I do, taking a deep, fortifying breath before I sit next to Eli, leaning in shoulder to shoulder with him for a look at his latest.
It’s a good shot.
The windshield’s natural filter adds a glazed tint to the deepening mix of twilight purple and gold falling over the café’s exterior. The glittering lights illuminating the people look more like a dramatic painting rather than a photograph.
Felicity’s eyes linger on it with focus.
I smile. Once again, it strikes me how she just gives herself to things that way, how she takes Eli seriously and actually seems truly entranced by the photo.
Her eyes gleam with wonder as she reaches for the camera and then stops, curling her fingers.
“Eli,” she breathes. “It’s so lovely. I almost didn’t recognize the place.”
Eli beams with pride, blushing like Felicity. My heart thuds in my chest with mixed pride in my kid’s talent, and that frigging tug almost hurts when I see how they are together.
She’s so good for him.
I’d have to be blind to not know he misses having a mama. And Felicity’s supportive interest just makes him bloom in ways I’m not sure I can give, even though I’ve been trying like hell.